Max and Boston
by OmoMeowth
Summary: This is a story about a trainer and his Pokemon. It exposes the predictable and flawed nature of humans through Max and Boston's unique relationship, and shows just how unkind a Pokemon world can be. It takes place in a much more dangerous world than the series or games.
1. Chapter 1

Max pulled his face out of the mud and wiped his cheeks. He was panting, struggling to catch his breath. His whole body ached and his eyes were beginning to water. He glanced back at his trainer, looking for some kind of guidance, for kind of command, but none came. All he saw was confusion and panic; it was all he ever saw in Boston. He started blinking rapidly, attempting to arouse himself; he could no longer think clearly. In the corner of his eye he saw a brown creature moving with terrifying speed, and instantly he knew what was coming. His entire body tensed as he braced for impact. A powerful kick to the face sent him flying backwards, on to his back.

Max's eyes opened. The world seemed to be flying by him. Lights were blurring past and everything was blending together, leaving him distraught and afraid. Instinctively, he looked for comfort, for anything familiar. First, all he could make out was a man above and behind him, but he didn't recognize him. He was beginning to panic. He could feel everything growing dimmer. But then, he saw Boston. Boston was to his side, tears in his eyes, even more terrified than him.

Boston's eyes met with Max's and immediately he knelt close to the tragic creature.

"Max! Please! Please don't be hurt! I promise you! Just please, God, don't be hurt!" Boston began sobbing.

Max grew even more afraid. Something was wrong, but he couldn't tell what. The lights were growing dimmer. Darkness was encompassing him from all sides. He wanted to fight it, but it felt so good… He drifted out of consciousness.

He had just finished coloring a picture. It was for Boston. Max attempted to examine the picture, but no matter how hard he looked at it, it remained a blur. The picture was an indefinable blob. But it didn't matter: Max knew that it was beautiful, or at least, it was the best he could do. Boston would love it…

He stood up and hobbled his way down the hallway of their house. The living room wasn't far, but it seemed to take a life time to arrive there. However, when he finally did, he found Boston sitting on the couch, sobbing loudly, face buried in his hands. He tried to ask him why, but the words would not come. Instead, he handed Boston the picture, hoping to cheer him up. Boston took the picture and looked at it. For a moment, he stopped completely and stared, but soon, he started crying again – this time even harder. Max looked on in horror, unable to do anything. He couldn't run, he couldn't hide, and he couldn't find the words to console Boston. He watched him sob; and soon, did the same himself. He felt rejected, guilty, empathetic, and most poignantly of all, hopeless.

Max opened his eyes. At first, everything was blurry and staying conscious was a chore, but as he started to understand he wasn't at home, he became more alert. To his right he saw a window, and to his left there was a bathroom. All around him were odd pieces of machinery and cabinets. Below him was a firm mattress, covered by a thin sheet. On top of him was a cheap, cotton blanket.

He was no stranger to this place; it was the Pokémon Center. Many times he had been sent there in the past, usually after losing a battle – or rather, after losing _another _battle. Max sat up and clicked the button to this side to alert the nurse he was wake, and only seconds later he heard her soft voice ring through the speaker on its top.

"One second, please!"

The nurse entered the room and asked if he was feeling better. He told her he was, despite the fact his body ached – especially his jaw - and the discomfort from his dream had persisted. She helped him out of bed to use the bathroom and then told him that she would be calling Boston soon. Max gave a relieved sigh. He always felt better when Boston was around. After all, Boston was the only person he truly trusted.

It only took about fifteen minutes for him to arrive at the Pokémon Center.

"Max!"

"Rai!"

"Oh, thank God you're alright!" Boston ran toward Max's bedside and hugged him tight. Electricity flickered off of Max's cheeks in excitement and intimacy. He buried his face in Boston's chest, craving the comfort and love his trainer was more than happy to give.

"God… I was afraid that Hitmonlee had really hurt you! …That was a close call!" They spent several moments in silence, Boston still embracing Max.

Finally, Boston leaned back and placed his hands on Max's shoulders.

"Listen, Max… I know I've said this before, and I know you're probably sick of hearing it… I would be too…" Max watched on, sullen, knowing what was coming. "But, I'm really sorry. If I was a better trainer, then this wouldn't have happened. I should have ended the fight…"

"Raichu! Rai, rai, raichu!"

"I know, I know… You could have ended it too. That isn't your job, though. It's mine. I am the trainer."

"Raichu! Rai!"

"There is no one else to blame, Max. I made another mistake, and I'm sorry. I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to leave me…"

"Raichu, raichu, rai! Rai, raichu!"

"… Heh, you're too loyal for your own good."

The nurse told them that Max would need to stay a few more days, just to make sure he was okay. Max wasn't happy with the idea, but Boston insisted. They relied on each other, and despite his flaws, Boston cared deeply for Max, and couldn't stand the thought of him suffering. Max pleaded to be released, to go back home with Boston, but his cries were ignored. He spent that night in physical discomfort, thinking non-stop about Boston rejecting him. Leaving him there, alone and scared.

He wondered: maybe Boston didn't like him anymore. Maybe that was the last battle Boston would deal with losing. Maybe he would get a newer, better Pokémon… Would Boston even be there when he got released? It was stupid and Max knew it. He knew for a fact Boston still loved him, and he knew that Boston was probably just as lonely as him, lying in their dank hole, all alone.

Max stared out the window. All he could see were the bricks that made up the adjacent building. He imagined a different life, a better one. One where he and Boston had money and where they actually _won _battles, for a change. He could see a life where they had food and weren't constantly mocked. A life that didn't take place in some poverty-stricken ghetto, where there wasn't a constant fear of being robbed, or even shot.

He felt his eyes grow warm and wet as he drifted off to sleep. He was tired of the pipe-dreams and tired of the suffering; but above all, he was tired of losing. He desperately wanted to please Boston, but it seemed that whenever he tried to reform himself, his attempts always crumbled to dust and added to the dirt that seemed to always surround him. Even the times when he and Boston had worked together to change, nothing ever changed. They remained poor and hungry. They remained hopeful and idealist. They remained losers.


	2. Chapter 2

"_I sure hope Max will be able to come home soon…" _Boston was in the Grab 'n Save grocery store, working his least favorite position: register. He reached over and picked up a tube of toothpaste and swiped it. There was a quick ding as he started to reach over for the next item.

"Hey! I thought I told you I was paying for that with cash!"

"Oh! Sorry ma'am!"

"Christ, pay attention, would ya?" She resumed digging in her purse. Boston sighed heavily and removed the toothpaste from her current bill. She pulled out a plastic card and ran it through the little machine in front of him. Food stamps.

"_He's been in there for three days now… How much longer could it possibly take? I don't know how much longer I can stand to go home to an empty apartment…"_

"Well? Are you gonna get the rest of it?"

"Huh? Oh, I'm sorry, ma'am."

"Stop apologizing and hurry it up!"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And stop calling me ma'am! Do I look that old to you?"

"…No, sorry." Boston stared down as he swiped and bagged all of the items. Like dealing with a rabid dog, the last thing he wanted to do was make eye contact with her.

After she left, he spent the next few minutes leaning against the cash register, fantasizing about going home and finding Max there. Like all of his fantasies, it grew steadily more ridiculous as it went on. Eventually, he was coming home to a family, food, and trophies of his achievement in the Pokémon world. In his daydreaming, he hadn't seen him coming.

"My, my! If it isn't my favorite Pokemon trainer, Loston Boston!"

"Hello, Zane…" Boston swallowed hard as the contents of his stomach rose to his throat.

"I'm just here to buy some cigarettes… So, uh, if you'd be so kind, the red pack."

"Alrighty, that'll be… five-fourteen."

"Thanks, but I can read. You do know the price is right here, right? On this little screen right in front of my face?"

"Yes, I knew that."

"Ah, alright! I was just making sure… After all, you're not the brightest person out there, are you?"

Boston handed him the pack of cigarettes, but didn't answer.

"Oh, don't be that way, Boston! We're buds, right?"

"… Why would I be friends with you?"

"Isn't it obvious? It's because people who aren't friend with me die, Boston."

There was a palpable silence between them. The rest of the store went on, not privy to what had just been said; but even if Zane had been overheard, nothing would have been done and nobody would have cared. Who were they to risk their lives for someone they didn't even know? Who were they to question the word of someone with known connections to the underground world, to insult a powerful and popular Pokémon trainer, both loved and feared?

"Now… Boston." The smile had faded from Zane's face and an all-too-familiar hardness had transformed his expression. "Are we buds, or not?"

Boston stared at him. It was not the first time he had been threatened, not even the first time by Zane, but it was enough.

"Yeah… We're friends."

"Good." He cracked him a smile. "By the way, how's your rodent doing?"

"… He's doing fine."Boston's voice was low and uninterested.

"Listen, Boston. I'm a nice guy. I want to be friends, and like a friend I'm inquiring into your life: the good, the bad, the ugly – mostly ugly with you – but regardless, I'm gonna have to ask you to change the attitude. Okay?"

"Alright."

"So you're good, Boston?"

"Yeah."

"…Yeah," he nodded slowly. That's what I thought."

Zane started walking away and didn't turn back.

Boston's knees were shaking and he could feel his eyes growing wet. He wanted to vomit. It was not the first time Zane had made such a threat, and it was common knowledge that he could and _would _act upon them.

When the day finally came to an end, Boston left the grocery store and started walking home. He looked at the crumbling bricks of the projects and the worn down sidewalk and asked himself why. He wanted to know why things had to be the way they were. Why he had to be a loser. Why he had to be a failure. He looked up at the sky; it was black. There was only one spot in the sky with any light. It was from the moon, but it was blocked off by the clouds. He sighed and resumed looking straight ahead. Hopefully he would make it home before he was robbed.

When he rounded the next corner he saw a large group of people gathered around, staring at something. He rushed over, curious to see what it was, and to his horror, he found a woman's body lying in the street. Her throat had been cut and blood was gushing out. The neighborhood was bad, but dead bodies were not exactly common place.

"Gawd, whatta shame. Poor girl getting' cut down right in da prime a' 'er life…"

"Yep. I wonder if she was a prostitute."

"Nah you know it aint polite ta be talkin' 'bout tha dead like that!"

"I know, just curious. It usually happens to prostitutes… and judging by the way she's dressed…"

"Nah I don't see ha it mattas. She dead, and they aint nutin we can do but hona ha memry."

Boston stared at the poor girl. She was wearing a tight-white top, no bra. She had on a short skirt, and it was pulled up past her faded, pink panties. He swallowed hard. He tried to listen to the people around him, and soon, he tried to look away; but he could do neither. He could only stare at her lifeless body, an odd sensation churning inside of him.

His heart started to pound against chest and his sight started getting blurry. His face was red and hot, and he was suddenly seized with an overwhelming sensation to lunge forward, to grab the corpse and run. He wanted to take it, but he didn't know where. - No! - He wanted to take it home. He would take it home, but then what? He could… store it somewhere. He could hide it. And no one would ever have to find out he had taken it.

But they would see him. He knew they would see him. His fists tightened and he struggled to get a hold of himself.

"_No."_ He thought to himself. "_You don't have those thoughts anymore. You're a normal person, Boston."_

He swallowed again. Was he a freak? Was he a monster? He could think of nothing else but of that dead creature before him. He could think of nothing but of its sensual curves and its… delightful posture. He wanted to embrace her.

"_Shut up, shut up, shut up!" _His head wouldn't stop screaming at him. He couldn't get the urges to go away. The primal lusts he possessed, the overpowering allure of instinctual guidance, it was something he had feared his entire life, something he shunned. His fists couldn't get tight enough. He started to blink randomly and rapidly, his lips started twitching, and he couldn't control his breathing.

"Hey, Boston, you alright?" It was the man from before, the one who had been talking about the dead body with the woman.

"I, I, I, I…" He started shaking his head. "I… have… to go…."


End file.
